The Secret Life of Mannequins
A poem
A poem
after the mall closes, after the last salesgirl
re-fluffs our wigs, straightens our skirts
we mannequins come alive
plastic joints creak as we stretch
slip off the latest fashions,
trade towering stilettos for fuzzy slippers
let our hair down from immobile coifs
shake off retail ennui
convene for our nightly soiree
wig head swaps, compare stretch marks
from repeated dressing undressing
gaze upon ourselves unclothed
admire the elegant arch of our necks
sculpted to perfection
this brief reprieve
between closing and the dawn rounds
tonight
we dance
Subscribe to get my free weekly Newsletter on Substack
The Boundless Possibilities of Non-Rhyming Poetry
What happened to rhyming poems?open.substack.com